Death's Embrace
by The Jolly Gnu
Summary: All residents: a public execution will be held in the main gallery in half an hour. All wishing to be publicly executed, please report to the supervisor's office." The Twelfth Doctor can't trust himself to go on living...
1. The Doctor's wish

Hullo. Well, I've actually written a serious Who story! No, don't turn off, it's not a joke! Anyway. Here I am, with a dark and moody story, which I think contains some of my best writing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who. I don't even own this version of the Doctor. Blame- er, I mean, thank- Calla of The Scarf Warriors. Well, here goes...

* * *

"All residents: a public execution will be held in the main gallery in half an hour. All wishing to be publicly executed, please report to the supervisor's office."

The tannoy system was drowned out as a new, different sound echoed around the sterile white corridor of the aged centre. A sound of engines forged at the dawn of time. Engines of a ship that was on its final voyage with the current inhabitant. The sound of the TARDIS. The Timelord emerged from the battered, worn blue doors. Pulling a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, the Doctor dusted the police box exterior with care.

"Hmmmf. Sounding a bit rough, old girl," he muttered. He turned, raising an eyebrow at the oncoming sound of footsteps. Two people rounded the corner, a tall, wispy individual with translucent skin wrapped in white robes, accompanied by a diminutive, cringing hunchback. The tall, graceful woman bowed. The hunchback affected a strange curtsey. The shortish man in the frilled shirt, the velvet waistcoat and the out-of-place blue hat leaned back and bellowed "HULLOOOO!"

Both staff members took a step back at this cheery greeting. Neither looked as if they had experienced much cheeriness in this place. The woman inclined her elongated head. "May we help you?"

The Doctor suddenly looked grim. "Yes," he said, looking into her eyes. The woman involuntarily shuddered at what she saw there. "I've come here to die."

The doors of the library swung open, slamming hard against the oaken walls- but mysteriously making no noise. Sister Magwhylde floated in, the Doctor striding calmly in her wake. The hunchback had, worryingly, taken to stroking the Doctor's leg. His unchecked giggles had echoed throughout the myriad corridors, but the echoes shut off the minute they passed into the library.

"As you can see, we have an extensive collection of books for your pleasure while you prepare yourself... for the end," said Magwhylde. The Doctor leaned towards a low shelf.

"Do I espy Black Orchid?" he asked. Magwhylde sighed. It had been difficult keeping the strange man in check on the tour. Just as the Doctor pulled the large volume from the shelf, an old woman with a long white beard rounded the corner. Booting the midget hunchback across the room, she threw her arms around the Doctor's waist.

"Doom! DOOM! DOOOOOOOM!" she screeched.

The Doctor beamed. "How lovely. Any particular doom?"

Magwhylde tugged the ancient female away. "Back to your cell, Agatha. Come along."

The Doctor watched the hunchback tug away the weeping crone. He turned, a frown playing on his face. "Do I get a 'cell'?"

Magwhylde laughed off his sarcasm. "Each to what suits their own species, Mister Doctor. Come. I will take you to a suite."

* * *

He hears them approaching in his dreams. He hears their stomps coming towards the last citadel. He hears the gunfire, bouncing harmlessly off their bodies. He re-lives, every time he dreams, every one of his deceased companions' last moments. He feels the wind ripping Katarina from the spacecraft. He feels the heat burning the flesh from Adric as the freighter explodes. He feels Kamelion shutting down, C'rizz disintegrating, K-9 getting torn apart as the school explodes. One he does not feel is Roberta, erased from time for all eternity. Funnily enough, this is no consolation. Only tw- one person remembers her at all. And back again, full circle to that final, desperate struggle for the planet. In front of his eyes, the scenario plays. Those who are too weak to fight back dragged away for conversion. The few that remain still firing all types of weapons, trying in desperate vain to break through the forcefield around the Cybermen. He is on the front line now- how did that happen? The cyberweapons blast down Jason's wife, his friends, his baby son. The Doctor sees, over and over again, Jason hurling himself upon the Cyberleader, so that the gun discharge destroys them both. Jason's lifeless body drops to the stone floor. The Doctor is alone. But that does not alter his terrible retribution. The almighty weaponry of the TARDIS, never deployed until now, wiping out everyone in that system. Not that there were any non-cybermen left.

* * *

The Doctor sat up in bed, sweating profusely. The dreams had never stopped. Every night he had spent in this, his penultimate incarnation, he had had those dreams. But they had intensified as late. And after Jason had fallen at the hands of the Cybermen, he knew that the end had come. He couldn't go on. Everyone he met found misery, pain and death. The only way to halt the stream of death that he left in his wake was to halt himself. That is why he was here. He got out of the bed and crossed into the kitchen of his suite. He reflected on his position grimly. It wasn't the worst way to go, waiting for the end in a place built for people to choose the own nature and time of their demise. After eleven increasingly violent and sudden deaths, the Doctor found knowledge of his own end... relaxing. It felt good to be master of his own destiny for the first time in... well, it must be almost a millennium. He hadn't chosen the method yet. Obviously, it would have to be one of the few things that meant that there would be no regeneration- he couldn't risk his new, final persona having a change of heart about his death. Cruel on the unborn thirteenth Doctor, but the timelord's decision was final. He couldn't risk any more death because of him. Everywhere he went, people died. In the end, he did more harm than good, despite his intentions. So, here he was, tired of the death he caused, tired of losing the people dearest to him. So tired.

There was a strident knock at the door. The Doctor padded through the apartment where he had been meditating for the past week, and responded to the hail to find one of the sisterhood in the doorway. The Doctor adopted a Gallifreyan bow.

"Sister Syren," he began. "What brings you this way?"

"Just checking up on you," said the youthful nun, walking into the abode.

"Really? I must say, it's very nice to have these visits from you and your colleagues," the Doctor smiled peaceably.

"So, have you yet decided when you would like to... pass on?" Syren asked.

"Erm, not yet," mused the Doctor. "Put me down for sometime in the next week, will you? Oh, and I'm tempted towards cremation for my method of passing- under sedation, of course."

Sister Syren bowed, but looked anxious. "Erm, Doctor, I hope you respect the fact that there are others, also tired of the burden that is life, who would pay a great deal of money for this suite."

The Doctor frowned. "Something wrong with the galactic credits I paid in?"

Syren blushed, her blue blood quickening through her translucent skin. "No, not at all, sir. It is just-" she smiled coyly at the Doctor. "We merely aim to please."

"It's not a task most people would relish, your job," the Doctor said. "But I think you do it admirably."

"Why, thank you, sir Doctor," muttered Syren shyly.

The Doctor smiled indulgently, and opened his mouth.

Suddenly the unlocked door was slammed open, and in staggered Agatha, the ancient woman who had confronted the Doctor in the library on his first day at the Death Centre. She was soaked in blood, which the Doctor quickly realised was her own. She held in her shaking hand a large ornamental dagger. The Doctor tried to work out how she came to have it with her.

"Agatha!" gasped Syren. "You were due to die today, weren't you? But why-" Agatha lurched drunkenly towards them, more blood trickling down onto her shift. She tripped and fell towards Syren, plunging the dagger up to the hilt in the soft, fragile flesh. Syren didn't scream, only softly sliding to the patterned marble floor. The Doctor tried to catch the dying young carer, but was shoved out of the way by Agatha, who pushed him up against the wall. The Doctor stared into the violet eyes, and there saw insanity.

"DOOOOOOOOM!!" screeched Agatha. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, she began to laugh. It was a terrible, pained sound, as if that throat had not been made for laughing, but there was genuine joy in it. "I'm happy!" Agatha announced. She laughed and laughed, a sound of relief. "Oh, oh! I'm so happy!" She smiled at the Doctor as she swung the outstretched knife downwards...


	2. Let me taste your pain

Erm. Well, here we are with part two. It's not as good as part one, which I was rather proud of, as 'the muse' only seems to grip me for about five seconds at a time. I hope you enjoy it so much that you are all compelled to write glowing reviews expressive of adoration.

* * *

"I'm happy!" Agatha announced. She laughed and laughed, a sound of relief. "Oh, oh! I'm so happy!" She smiled at the Doctor as she swung the outstretched knife downwards...

…And into her own stomach. The berserk, bleeding woman dropped to the ground, screeching, dribbling into her beard. The Doctor grimly stepped over the frothing corpse, kneeling beside Sister Syren, clasping her hand.

"Come on, Syren," the Doctor whispered, leaning down to the level of the Sister's ear. "Don't give up on me now. Wake up, my dear."

Syren's eyelids fluttered, opening just enough to release a single tear, which slowly slid down her cheek. "No," the Doctor hissed. "I refuse to lose someone else!" He started compressing the areas around her three lungs, trying to force them into action. Rather than speed up with air intake once more, the lungs began to slow, each breath leaving the body a portion of precious life-force.

Choking back a sob of desperation, the Doctor dashed over to the sink, filling a beaker full of the water-like substance that flowed from the black, polished taps. Skidding on the floor as he approached Syren, the Doctor finished in a kneeling position, forcing the liquid between the Sister's lips. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Don't try to speak," the Doctor advised her.

"Why?" begged Syren. "Why now? Why like this? I... don't want... to die."

She burst into spasmodic tears. The Doctor gathered her up in his arms and hugged her to his body until she died. Then, when the last, ungraceful gargle of breath had departed her, the Timelord stood. He closed his eyes briefly, but, having opened them once again, his gaze fell upon Agatha. His expression grew grim and resolute. The Doctor stood, discarding his silken dressing-gown, which he placed over the face of Syren. Likewise, he covered Agatha's cooling corpse with his white meditation wrap.

Stepping into his bedroom, the Doctor opened a wardrobe and began to dress. Zip-up boots followed his black trousers onto his body, which was trembling with rage and frustration. He pulled on his frilled shirt, buttoning it up to the collar, half choking himself. Shrugging into his red velvet waistcoat, he noticed for the first time blood on his hands. He clenched his fist, the veins standing out on the back of his hand as he forced his nails to pierce his skin, allowing his own blood to mix with Syren's. Slowly, precisely, he buttoned his waistcoat, tugging down on it to smarten himself. Reaching towards his hat, he paused, then let his arm drop with a sigh. His mood was not one that called for a loud blue hat. The Doctor stared at his reflection in the mirror. He was, once again, The Doctor, Last Of The Timelords, Protector Of The Matrix. With a dark scowl, he walked out into the corridor, marching towards the door.

He stepped out into the main corridor of level Eight of the Death Centre, taking a deep breath to compose himself. A jerked- out elbow broke a panel, setting off an alarm to alert that something was amiss in those quarters. The Doctor didn't even blink as a piercing klaxon reverberated throughout the eardrums of the centre residents in the corridor, who clutched at their skulls in pain. The Timelord executed a smart about-turn, and set off towards the supervisor's office.

He entered the lift, which began to rise to the top level.

Behind his back, unseen by him, a black panel was removed from the rear wall, and the stealthy figure of the hunchback slid out from behind the lift wall. Drawing a long dagger from his belt, the silent assassin poised himself to leap. The midget leapt, slicing into the Doctor's shoulder, but the Timelord's elbow caught him in the stomach before he could finish the stroke. The Doctor backed off, distancing himself from the murderous hunchback.

The Doctor started talking to his would-be murderer, trying to distract him, while hoping that he didn't sound as nervous as he was. "My, my," he stuttered, resisting the urge to wipe sweat from his forehead. "What a charming knife. Now, where could I have seen a knife like that before? Ah, yes, I remember!" Now talking nineteen to the dozen, the Doctor tried to gauge what his opponent was thinking about this nonsensically gabbling skilled fighter before him. "Yes, unless I'm very much mistaken, I've seen an identical dagger wielded by dear old Agatha," gasped the Doctor, clutching at his damaged shoulder. He gave a sudden grin. "Why, what a coincidence. Where, oh where, could she have got that weapon from?"

The hunchback hurled himself at the Doctor, who launched himself sideways. Enraged, the assassin grabbed hold of him and they grappled on the floor of the lift. Sweat beaded on the Doctor's brow as he held the knife back barely an inch from his neck. Twisting the wrist in his grasp, the Timelord succeeded in bringing the knife clattering to the floor. The Doctor realised that the lift had stopped between levels, and, as the hunchback grabbed the knife again, dived through the hole in the wall.

Despite it being his only option, this was still a very foolish thing to do. The Doctor hung by his damaged palms from the service ladder, an unfathomable drop below. Kicking out, he succeeded in acquiring a foothold. The Doctor cursed himself for his fear. Hadn't he come here to die? Why, after all he had done to be sure he was ready to die, was he still fighting for his life? Inwardly, he knew the reason. He owed it to Sister Syren to discover the mystery that was occurring here. He began to climb down to the nearest level. He heard the clunk of footsteps on the ladder above him, and knew that his opponent was pursuing him. Without looking up, the Doctor continued his discourse.

"So, let's talk about you. You're not a resident, and you're certainly not one of the sisterhood. So, where do you fit in?"

"Your words will not save you, resident Doctor," the hunchback called down. The Doctor almost slipped off the ladder in surprise at the high, soft cultured tones of the twisted assassin.

"Oh, really? I'm not so sure about that," the Doctor retorted. Suddenly, a boot connected with his skull, and he slipped off the rung wet with his own blood, and the Doctor was falling. He twisted around and caught the side of the ladder, and inched out his sonic screwdriver to open the door a few feet below him. With a screech like a dying chicken, the small but brutal hunchback dropped down onto the Doctor. The Timelord grabbed his enemy, and, fury in his eyes, held him at arm's length over the terrible drop. As the midget twisted in fury, his clothing tore, exposing weeping scars, whip-marks and brands. The Doctor's expression softened as he saw the tortures that had cracked the hunchback's mind.

"I can help you," the Doctor began softly, but the hunchback was not listening. A flash of steel- a sickening pain- a wail of terror- and the hunchback was disappearing into the gloom below, while the Doctor nursed his bleeding wrist. The Doctor peered downwards. "Never mind, I'll take the stairs," he muttered. Incredibly, he had maintained hold of the sonic screwdriver throughout this, which he began to put to good use...

* * *

Janice Nice was walking quickly down the corridor of the Death Centre, toward the lift doors. She was satisfied that the alarms were not advertising an incident on her level, but, being an incredibly nosy person, she wanted to know the cause of the disturbance. Suddenly, they slid open, but there were no familiar black wood panels beyond. Instead, an extremely scruffy man swung himself through the doors and into the corridor. Dirt caked his smart white shirt and black trousers. He was bleeding heavily from his wrist, shoulder and hand, she saw. The cuff of his shirt was beginning to stiffen with dried red blood, and there was a large rip in his waistcoat. As he saw Janice, he wiped the long black hair from his eyes, revealing a swollen eyelid, an Asian complexion, and, rather strangely, a smile. Obviously insane.

"Exuse me," said the Doctor. "Could you please direct me to the supervisor's office?"

* * *

Sister Magwhylde was just departing her quarters next to the Supervisor's office, when she saw a horrifying apparition heading towards her. Closer inspection underneath a liberal coating of stains revealed it to be Mister Doctor, the loon she herself admitted to the centre last week. The Doctor hailed her as he approached, disgracefully cheerfully, she though.

"My dear sister Magwhylde!" the Doctor beamed. The sister found herself unconsciously backing away from this apparition of filth.

"What... on Earth... have you been doing?" the nun stammered.

"Oh... this and that, it's very kind of you to show an interest," replied the Doctor airily, blowing out his cheeks. "I'm here to see the supervisor, are you going that way?"

The Sister replied instinctively: "No, I was going down to the dining hall, and then-" the Doctor's words sunk in. "What?! You- you can't see the supervisor like that!"

The Doctor's face fell. "Oh. Is it my waistcoat? I have a silk one in my ship," Magwhylde could only mouth silently. "I did leave my hat behind," the Doctor continued earnestly. "You remember? My shiny blue hat?"

Magwhylde did remember. She remembered very well. She was just about to give her thoughts on the Doctor's taste in hats, when a device clipped to the collar of her voluminous robes emitted a high-pitched chime and lit up. She hurried to the control panel on the corridor wall. An image of Sister Giblet appeared, obviously flustered, the blood rushing through her visible veins. "Well, Sister?" asked Magwhylde.

The flustered Giblet faltered several times as she made her brief report. "The alarm was sounded to report the violent and suspicious deaths of Resident Agatha Potterley and Sister Syren." Magwhylde let her analytical brain file away the demise of the young sister for future mourning. Sister Giblet continued: "The corpses were within the apartment of the one known as 'The Doctor.'"

Magwhylde's heart almost stopped. She whisked quickly around, but the corridor was empty. The supervisor's office door softly closed. The leader of the sisterhood ran to it, despite her age, but it was locked. She leant against it, sobbing for breath.

* * *

The Doctor sealed the office door with his screwdriver, and looked around the office. He was relieved to find that it was devoid of a supervisor, or any other person, but was intrigued by the non- appearance of the elusive head of the facility, whom he had been led to believe spent all their time within this office. A neat, ordinary desk sat in the middle of the neat, ordinary office, on the neat, ordinary carpet. A neat, ordinary bookcase stood against the wall to the right of the Doctor, full of neat, ordinary books. On the desk sat neat, ordinary stationery, but on the neat, ordinary chair that one would expect the supervisor to occupy, sat a neat, ordinary box. The doctor leaned over to examine this out of place wooden box.

"Hmmm," he said aloud. "Seems very... neat... and ordinary."

"Ahem."

The Doctor turned around to see better the man who had just appeared from behind the bookcase. "Hullo. I'm the Doctor."

"Yes. I know," smiled the tall human in a grey business suit, his wide smiled stretching beneath his cropped black hair. "You seem to have a reputation, leaving all these corpses in your wake."

A muscle in the Doctor's jaw twitched at these words. "You yourself seem to draw death around you."

The supervisor spread his arms. "It's my job! People want suicide; we offer them preparation for it, and exciting ways to die."

"An admirable business," retorted the Doctor. "But there's more. People don't do something for nothing- even the idiot sisterhood that trail around covering up the fact that this is a glorified gas chamber. And this is really just a waste of time- why not let these people just die? Why make them feel so comfortable that they start to go off the prospect? And indeed, I would've, if it wasn't for the hired help reminding me why I was here."

"You appear to think that you are very clever, Doctor," smiled the supervisor. He had smiled all the way through the Doctor's discourse, and was still smiling now.

"Oh, I am very clever," replied the Doctor. "I know that. I also know when a hypothetical person that I am conversing with, just like we are now, is, in fact, a holographic image." Idly, he picked up a pencil and gently tossed it at the man in front of him. The image fizzled as the pencil passed through it.

"Yes, I see what you mean," hissed a voice, not unlike that of the holographic supervisor, but distorted and mechanical. It had not come from the mouth of the hologram. "You are indeed clever, Mister Doctor."

"Look, why does everyone keep calling me that?" asked the Doctor, puzzled. "You do know that 'Doctor' is a title, just like Mister or Sister?"

"I shall file away this information for a later project."

"Project? What-" the Doctor started towards the hologram, but it disappeared. The Doctor stamped his foot irritably. "Don't just fizzle off like that when I'm talking to you! Return now!"

"I have."

The Doctor wheeled around to see the hologram on the other side of the desk. The hologram began disappearing and appearing, popping into existence in various places in the room. The Doctor gave up trying to see if there was a pattern, as the various images of the hologram began to speed up in their random hopping around the office. The Doctor blinked, and the supervisor appeared, standing on the ceiling, his upside-down visage smiling into the Doctor's own face, only inches away. "Most impressive," sneered the Doctor. "But party tricks long ceased to impress me."

The hologram vanished, but the voice remained. "Well, my enigmatic Doctor, this is one trick that you'll not forget for the rest of your admittedly short life..."

The weathered wooden box, which had previously sat upon the supervisor's chair was hovering in mid-air- when did that happen? The Doctor blinked; he seemed to be getting a sudden and painful headache. He vaguely realised that the box was heading towards him, but he was no longer sure of where he was- or even who he was. The Doctor's last grip on reality failed as the box descended around his head, and a sibilant whisper sounded:

"Let me taste your pain..."

* * *

Part three hopefully coming soon, but I can't be sure, I'm off on holiday at the end of the week.


	3. The Doctor investigates

OK! So, at the end of the last chapter, I said I would hopefully update it soon. Well, it seems, dear readers, that for "soon," you should in fact read "in a year's time." Yeah, expect more of this excellent time- keeping. I'm not happy with the start of this chapter, but I think it gets better later on.

* * *

The weathered wooden box, which had previously sat upon the supervisor's chair was hovering in mid-air- when did that happen? The Doctor blinked; he seemed to be getting a sudden and painful headache. He vaguely realised that the box was heading towards him, but he was no longer sure of where he was- or even who he was. The Doctor's last grip on reality failed as the box descended around his head, and a sibilant whisper sounded:

"Let me taste your pain..."

The Doctor sat bolt upright in bed, blinking as he tried to grasp the last faint strains of his dream. He sighed as he swung his legs out of bed and sat on the side of it, running his fingers through his hair. He had a feeling that his recent dreams were his telepathic instincts trying to warn him of something, but this most recent one was gone from his memory almost entirely. He thought hard, pressing his thumbs into his eyes, which hurt, so he stopped doing it. But there was nothing. He knew that his shoulder should hurt, though, and he reached for it to feel it, but the memory of pain was gone, like the shape in a fast moving cloud.

The Doctor softly padded to the kitchen, his robe floating around his ankles. That in itself was strange; he had thought that he was wearing his normal clothes. But why would he have worn them to bed? The Doctor's back stiffened; clearly there was more than meets the eye at work here. He had just reached the sink, and was about to run himself a glass of water, when he heard a click as the door to the apartment was opened.

The Doctor flung himself to the floor, wincing as the glass he was holding cracked at the impact. The jagged edges dug into his palms, and he drew them out with gritted teeth as he crawled forward on his belly towards the door to the passage leading out to the main corridor. Two figures moved along the corridor, their shadows falling into the kitchen from the light of the outside world. The Timelord's ears moved subtly forward as he strained to hear the next movement.

Suddenly, a foot swung into the kitchen through the doorway. Swiftly, the Doctor grabbed hold of the bony ankle as it descended, forcefully twisting it and sending the first intruder tumbling into a shrieking heap right on top of the second. Immediately the Doctor bobbed up into a crouching position, then leapt on to his opponent, glaring down into the shrieking, terrified features of Sister Magwhylde. Hurriedly, the doctor bounded up, reaching out and flicking the light switch, flooding the room with light. Magwhylde and another of the facility's nuns stared up at him, shock in their eyes. Grimly, the Doctor pulled them to their feet one by one.

The Doctor looked down at them sternly. "I don't remember summoning you," he said, accusation in his voice. The Doctor folded his arms and stared at them, leaning backwards. Magwhylde's lackey shrunk back at his gaze.

"Weren't- expecting-" she muttered jerkily, still shaken.

The Doctor's eyebrow arched upwards. "Really? You weren't expecting to find me in my own room?" He looked into the sister's eyes. "So, tell me how exactly you came to that conclusion."

"I think you've wasted enough of our time!" snapped Magwhyle. "Come, sister." She swept out of the room gracefully, followed by her cohort, who looked over her shoulder at the Doctor as she left... almost fearfully.

The Doctor stared grimly at the departing figures. Smartly about-turning, he came to a decision. _There's something very strange going on here- stranger than strange, _he thought to himself. _And I think the quickest way to get to the root cause of this devious mystery is to go and find-_ "The supervisor," he said out loud.

Unknowingly coming to the same conclusion twice in a short space of time, the Doctor moved into his bedroom and opened his wardrobe, reaching out for his clothes. To his mild surprise (although he had been expecting something of the kind), he found that his red waistcoat was missing, along with a shirt and trousers. The Doctor was now utterly convinced that someone was attempting to remove all traces of something in the recent past- starting with his memories of the event. "Sounds like I had an interesting time," he muttered to himself, dressing swiftly in his spare set of clothes.

The Time Lord reached for his eye- catching blue hat. Reaching inside it, he removed the TARDIS key from its hidden pocket. Tossing it up into the air, he caught it with one hand while grabbing his long green velvet waistcoat from the wardrobe and marching decisively towards the door into the corridor.

_What I have here is a mystery,_ he considered. _Where does one start with a mystery? What would Scooby-Doo do?_ The Doctor straightened up, thrusting his hands into his pockets as he stared down the corridor, the dust motes spinning in the brightly- lit area, the tranquil sky outside betraying the sense of ominous doom that pervaded the centre. "Come on, Doctor," he muttered determinedly to himself, his eyes narrowing grimly. "Let's look for clues."

Janice Nice's pen hung from her mouth, where she had been chewing it, but had now forgotten it as she stared in horrified fascination at the scene unfolding below her in the amphitheatre. Five white-robed members of the Sisterhood stood in a semicircle behind a chanting creature perched on ten spindly legs. The individual pushed his palms forward in a giving gesture. Suddenly, he gave a gurgling cry and pitched forward, stabbed in the back by the central sister, the hilt of the ornate dagger protruding from the centre of his blue- scaled back. The other four women stepped forward, and with firm and brutal movements, stuck the knives into his body, and then stepped back, bowing as one to the fresh corpse. The lighting dimmed for the body to be removed. Janice jumped and gave a squeak of alarm at the sudden voice at her side.

"Hmmm, ritual Fesskarrian death ceremony. Each dagger is carved with the name of a person the deceased has included in their will," the Doctor commented drily. He leant down to pick up Janice's errant pen and turned to look at her, tossing the pen into her lap and grinning. "Don't other cultures seem strange sometimes?"

"Hello, again," Janice whispered to the strange man.

He frowned. "Have we met?"

"Yesterday, remember? You climbing out of a lift shaft, me a little bit disgusted at the state of you?"

The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. "I really did have a very interesting missing day, didn't I?

"What?" Janice picked up her pen and tapped it against her pad of paper. The Doctor glanced at it.

"I'm guessing you're a journalist? Mind you, I could've guessed that by your clothes," the Doctor said, settling back as best he could into the hard, unyielding chair.  
Janice looked around, the white robed figures all trying to look anywhere but at the woman in a beige safari suit and the man in a green waistcoat. "You don't exactly fit the status quo yourself."

"Let's just say I believe in independent style," the Time Lord muttered, crossing his legs. "So, what brings you to a place like this?"

"Just a routine article… on attitudes to…" she paused. The Doctor looked at her.

"Euthanasia?" he offered.

"…Well, yes."

"I take it from your tone that you do _not_ approve."

Janice frowned. "I'm a journalist! I am completely impartial."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Hmmf. There's no such thing as complete neutrality."

The lights came up again. There was now a hangman's gibbet, complete with noose on stage. Janice chewed her lip. "Look, I've got no problem if people choose to end their own life. But… this place… it just seems…"

"A bit macabre?"

Janice nodded slowly. "You think so too?"

The Doctor frowned in thought. "Well, every culture has different attitudes to death. But this place goes beyond that." Lacing his fingers together, he stared intently down into the amphitheatre. "Have you noticed that we hardly ever see the same method of public execution twice in here?"

Janice thought for a moment. "Yes," she said. "Yes, that did occur to me…"

"And what does that suggest to you?"

"Suggest to me? Well… I suppose it's a bit like… an experiment?"

The Doctor slowly turned to face her, appraising her. "Exactly."

Janice frowned in confusion. "But- who-"

The Doctor bounded out of his seat. "Let's find out, shall we?" He turned to see her staring up at her. "Unless you'd prefer to stay here and watch the show?"

Janice made a decision. "Alright, I'm coming," she said, standing to join the Doctor. "Erm- where are we going?"

The doors to the amphitheatre slid open, allowing the Doctor and Janice through into the corridor. The Doctor, who was staring at the floor, ruminating, suddenly found himself confronted with five pairs of shiny white shoes. He greeted the shoes cordially.

"Ah, Hello!" he said. He dragged his gaze upwards until he was staring at five members of the Sisterhood, staring with narrowed eyes at him. In unison, they lifted their right hands, all of which were clasping sidearms. The Doctor found himself staring death in the eyes once more. And, in this case, death's eyes looked like five gunbarrels.

"Ah," he said, wide- eyed, but with a smile playing on his face. "Goodbye!" The Doctor ducked and rolled straight into the gaggle of sisters, all of whom looked to be rather advanced in years. "Strike!" he yelled, as four of the sisters toppled to the floor with cries of alarm. The Doctor turned to face the fifth one, to find Janice struggling with her for the gun. The Doctor strode forward, index finger extended. Calmly, he placed his fingertip to the Sister's temple. Immediately, the old woman's eyes rolled, and she collapsed, unconscious. Janice tugged the gun out of her hand as she fell. She turned to face the Doctor.

"Run?"

"Run!"

They ran. _I'm enjoying this far, far too much, _the Doctor thought. _What the hell is this meant to be? One last hurrah? I've had far too many "last" hurrahs- and they always end up somebody else's… anyone's but mine._ The Doctor stopped dead, his heels grinding into the floor as he halted.

Janice was still running as she hit the Doctor's outstretched arm. The Time Lord turned to face her, smiling.

"Thank you, Janice. You've been a great help," he said softly.

"Me? What've I done?"

The Doctor clapped her on the shoulder. "Enough. But now I think it's best if you got out of here."

Janice narrowed her eyes. "What, because it's too 'dangerous' for me?" The Doctor opened his mouth, but she interrupted him. "Look, that might be the case, but it's just as dangerous for you!"

"Well-" the Doctor started.

"You're going to need help against that lot!"

The Doctor placed his finger firmly on his lips. Janice looked quizzically at him. "I don't underestimate you," the Doctor told her. "But the point is, I need you to get word that something strange is happening here to the outside world. Please?" Janice hesitated. The Doctor continued. "Besides, you've got your whole life ahead of you. And I… I don't fear death anymore."

Janice sighed. "Look, just keep out of trouble until I get back with help. And, Doctor- you might need this."

She held out the gun she had taken from the nun. The Doctor hesitated, then took it. Janice nodded at him, then turned and ran down the corridor, towards the landing bay. The Doctor held the gun at arm's length, between his index finger and thumb, and made for a litter bin attached to the faded wall to dispose of it. However, he paused staring at the gun. After a moment, he flicked the gun up into his hand and tucked it into his waistband. _Only for emergencies, only for emergencies,_ he told himself. Then he set off in the direction of the supervisor's office.

Sister Magwhylde listened with growing weariness to the report given by her closest aide, Sister Pyrrynata.

"And so, having violently assaulted four of the sisterhood while his accomplice held me down, he then proceeded to strike me into unconsciousness!" Pyrrynata concluded. "When I came to, they had escaped, taking my sidearm with them!"

Magwhylde stiffened, holding up a graceful hand. "Sister, why were you armed? What gave you the right to break our vow of offensive violence?"

Pyrrynata looked up, confused. "Sister, it was on the supervisor's authority."

Pyrrynata watched as Magwhylde's blood quickened its pace through her translucent flesh. "If you receive another order like that, Sister, I expect to be informed immediately. Now, if you'll excuse me, I shall go and monitor the search for the Doctor myself." Magwhylde glided out of the room, leaving Pyrrynata glaring after her.

_Arrogant fool! _She thought. _Who does she think she is? She shouldn't even be the head of our order; I must be at least fifteen years older then her! _Pyrrynata glared sourly after Magwhylde. Suddenly the intercom bleeped and a holographic screen appeared in the table in front of her. The sanguine face of the supervisor appeared before her. "Supervisor!" she gasped. "I wanted to talk to you about Sister-"

"No time now, Pyrrynata. I understand you've let me down with regards to the Doctor." The Sister bowed her head in shame. The supervisor continued speaking. "I've just received confirmation that The Doctor and Ms Nice are terrorists seeking to destroy the complex. They are to be shot on sight," he finished, his face showing no sign of emotion.

Pyrrynata nodded. "I understand." The communication terminated, and the Sister crossed to the wall, opening a safe to reveal an assortment of weapons. The Sister hesitated before selecting an up- to- date laser. If the Sisterhood was under threat from terrorists, she would not make any mistakes in her defence of her order. _And it is _my_ order,_ she thought.

The holographic visage of the supervisor showed no emotion as he crossed the room to the weathered box. He turned his head to the door as he heard a rattling. The hologram stared at the quivering door as someone attempted to open it. The supervisor unlocked the door with a signal from his mind, then deactivated the hologram.

The Doctor was struggling with the door and wondering where his sonic screwdriver could be when the door suddenly opened and he toppled inside, sprawling on the ground. Leaping up from this undignified position, he spun around to face… an empty room. Crossing to the desk, the Doctor examined it. Strangely devoid of paperwork, the most obvious object on the desk was a strangely familiar wooden box. The Doctor flexed his muscles, took a step back, and flicked the box open…

Janice was almost at her spaceship, when without warning a bulkhead suddenly shot up from the ground not two feet from her, separating the bay into two, with her on one side and her ship on the other. Running straight into the unforgiving metal, Janice bounced back, clutching her head in pain. She struggled to her feet, blinking hard to clear her blurred vision. Hearing footsteps echoing behind her, she turned to see one of the Sisterhood standing, looking at her with a triumphant smile on her face. Raising a fearsome-looking weapon, Sister Pyrrynata aimed it, her finger tensing on the trigger.

"No further, terrorist," the Sister said. _Maybe I should say something to her… the Sisterhood is meant to care for troubled souls…_

"I forgive you," the seven- foot tall alien wielding a laser told the bleeding, dazed woman leaning against the bulkhead to stop herself falling. Pyrrynata extended her arm and prepared to fire…

The lid of the box clattered shut, and the Doctor staggered backwards, wide- eyed in shock, his brow breaking into a terrified sweat at what he had seen within the box. Stumbling, he almost fell, but was caught by two men who had followed him into the room. Looking from side to side in confusion, the Doctor saw in the men's eyes the same wild, lost madness that he had seen quite recently… in the eyes of a certain hunchback. Sweat ran into the Doctor's horrified eyes, which narrowed in confusion as a man materialised into existence behind the desk.

"The Doctor has decided that he would prefer a public execution… immediately," the Supervisor told the men, one of whom tugged the gun from the Doctor's waistband and pocketed it. The Supervisor pushed his hands into his pockets and leaned back. "Take him away."

The Doctor was dragged out of the office… still paralysed with the shock of what he had seen… within the box.

* * *

Ooh! Anyway, review if you think it'll encourage me to finish the final chapter in less than twelve months...


	4. An unhealthy interest in Death

Well, this is it, folks. I'm not entirely happy with the ending, it doesn't really make as much sense in written format as it did in my head, and it's a bit more whimisical and cheery than I intended. But... well, just see for yourself. Hope you like it anyway.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Doctor Who. No, really. On a site called FanFiction I am, impossibly, just a fan.

* * *

"The Doctor has decided that he would prefer a public execution… immediately," the Supervisor told the men, one of whom tugged the gun from the Doctor's waistband and pocketed it. The Supervisor pushed his hands into his pockets and leaned back. "Take him away."

The Doctor was dragged out of the office… still paralysed with the shock of what he had seen… within the box.

* * *

Pyrrynata extended her arm and prepared to fire her weapon at Janice. Janice closed her eyes at the sound of a shot… but to her surprise, she was not dead. In fact, there was no pain at all- apart from the large bump on her forehead. She opened her eyes, to find Pyrrynata crumpled in a heap several feet away. Behind her stood the slender figure of Sister Magwhylde, breathing heavily and looking with mild shock at the gun in her hand, as if it had fired itself. Janice opened her mouth, letting out a breath she had been holding for some time. Clambering to her feet, the journalist took one shaky step, then another, barely trusting her quivering wreck of a body.

* * *

The Doctor mentally shook himself to life. _What am I doing here? __Where am I being taken? _Forcing himself to pluck the situation around him from the images swiftly spinning through his mind, he vaguely recalled being dragged through three corridors and a lift journey to arrive at his current location, somewhere deep underground. One of his guards threw open a pair of grubby- looking doors set into the drab walls. The other propelled him through it. The Doctor subtly relaxed, until he felt the tight grip on his arm slacken. Slacken just a little, but maybe enough for-

The Doctor twisted in the guard's grasp, attempting to throw him off, while beginning his run for it in the same movement. The Doctor was aware of a sensation of utter agony in his shoulder, as he twisted in mid- air and was thrown efficiently to the floor by the lightning reactions of the guard. His feelings of frustration, despair and hopelessness could only be summed up in one, dynamic, emotive expression of himself:

"Ouch," said the Doctor. The man in front of him turned briefly to glare at him- at least, the Doctor assumed he was glaring; it was difficult to tell when the guard's eyes were so bloodshot. "I said ouch," the Doctor explained. "It's an expression of pain, you know- or maybe you don't know," he continued, looking the man's warped body up and down. "Can you feel pain?"

His guard scowled and turned back to stomping up the grey, shabby corridor. The Doctor twisted his neck to look back at the individual who had just caused his shoulder to ache so. "You as well," he added in a conversational tone. "Can you feel? I shouldn't think so, looking at you, though," he mused aloud, dragging his heels into the dusty floor in the hope that his companions would take more notice of him. "Or am I perhaps being insensitive?" he continued. "Got a wife tucked away somewhere? Someone waiting for you with open arms and dinner on the table?"

No response.

"No?"

No response.

"You do surprise me."

_What in Rassilon's name am I talking about? _the Doctor thought. _Talking complete nonsense again, trying to catch my opponents off guard- though, in this case, I really would like a better idea of who my opponent _is_ before I try that. _The Time Lord disappeared inside himself, reflecting on memories of the past, the grand cosmic game he's always played with the forces of injustice. _I thought those days were over?_ A snide voice at the back of his mind interrupted. The Doctor tried to placate that little voice, telling it that as soon as this mysterious business was over, he'd surrender himself to the endless comfort of death- but as he thought those thoughts, he knew how ridiculous that would have sounded out loud. And… there was something else. Something he had been trying to suppress all day- but it was impossible to suppress something like… the thrill. The thrill of the chase, the inability to just lie back and let the universe go away that had lain at his core all his life, the same thing that had driven him off Gallifrey all those centuries ago…

The Doctor stumbled and fell, bashing his knee on the concrete, as his minder took an expected turn of direction, propelling him through a side exit, another set of yellow, pitted, worn doors. The Doctor found himself inside a lift. Calming musak began to play. Like most calming musak, it completely failed to calm the Doctor in any way. He tried to shove his hands into his pocket in a nonchalant fashion, but the titanium- like grip on his shoulder made that impossible. Trying to fold his arms also made him look silly, so the Doctor settled for clutching his lapel in a commanding fashion with his free arm. "Where are we going, by the way?" he asked, as casually as if he was asking where his hulking guards had gone on holiday- though they didn't as if they got out much. "I never really liked lifts, did you?" he continued blithely. Silence. "I mean, it's not claustrophobia or anything- you don't suffer from any phobias, do you?"

The guard he was facing remained completely impassive, his face still apart from the minor tic inside the folds of his scars. The Doctor chattered on, his mind trying to wind itself around this situation, but finding it impossible to get past the simple but impassable barrier of the gun pointed at his chest. "No fears? Arachnophobia? Heliophobia? Cryophobia? Why, the last time I was in a lift, I…" the Doctor paused, brow furrowed in confusion and thought. "I… do you know, I-"

The lift gave a cheery 'ping' which provoked a grunt and raised eyebrow of annoyance from the Doctor. He then received a hard shove in the small of the back which propelled him through the lift doors and out into a huge space. As he reeled and wheeled, trying to take in his surroundings, the Doctor realised that he was on the public execution stage in the amphitheatre. "Great!" he yelled. "Just fantastic!" He spotted a camera set in a nearby podium, filming his plight. The Time Lord struggled in his captor's grasp, turning to see the lift retract into the floor. He strained to escape again, groaning with frustration.

"Please do not resist," muttered his disfigured captor in a weary voice, as if he did this sort of thing often. With a monumental effort, the Doctor wrenched himself free, jerking his arms irritably.

"ALL RIGHT!" he bellowed. "All right," he continued, turning to the camera. With a grim expression of loathing on his features, the Doctor turned to the camera, methodically straightened his shirt cuffs, cracked his knuckles and presented the camera with a very rude hand gesture indeed. It was probably lost on the watching Supervisor, but it made the Doctor feel better. "All right… I'm ready now."

_So this is how I die, _the Doctor concluded. _Humiliated, defeated, at the mercy of whatever tortures that whatever-it-is will throw at me. _

_But wait, said a smaller, younger sounding voice. You won't die. You'll _regenerate._ This doesn't have to be the end._

_No, _the main part of the Doctor replied._ There will be no regeneration. I've had enough. I won't cause more suffering. _

_Oh, don't be such an emo, Doctor! _snapped the other part. _Stop feeling so damn self- pitying! You know, deep inside, that you'll never stop fighting! This isn't a suicide pact with yourself…_ _it's depression!_

_He's right… erm, _I'm_ right,_ realised the Doctor. _Jason and the others died fighting for what they believed in- so did the Cybermen, in a way. What kind of example would I be setting if I faded out with a whimper? Now my only problems are my imminent death and my multiple personalities. Huzzah. _

The Doctor dragged himself from the depths of his reverie, following his guards' gazes upwards… to where a massive cage, filled with vicious barbed spikes was descending towards him. He looked down at a snapping noise near his feet, at where his ankles were being firmly manacled to the ground.

"No!" he grunted, as the spikes continued to slowly fall. He could imagine them sinking into his flesh, ripping apart his tissue as they sunk deeper and deeper into his body.

Suddenly, a bright flash rent the theatre. A laser bolt struck the cage causing sparks to cascade down on the Doctor and his minders, scorching them, but the cage was stilled, the spikes stationary. The Doctor squinted up into the bright lights of the stadium, and with a thrill, recognised Janice, flanked by Sister Magwhylde and two novice members of the sisterhood. "Let the Doctor go," commanded Magwhylde. The man to the Doctor's right snarled up at her.

"He must die. We have our orders."

"Those orders are countermanded!" barked Magwhylde.

"I don't think they'll listen to you," shouted the Doctor, staring intently up at them. "It's rather hard to concentrate on conversation when you've pretty much lost your mind completely."

"So what has happened to them, Doctor?" asked Janice, still with her weapon aimed at the figures on the podium. The Doctor was getting rather worried- Janice wasn't the sort of person who immediately struck him as having excellent aim.

"Same thing as happened to me," declared the Doctor. "They saw something that their minds just couldn't comprehend. Fortunately, my species has a slightly more complex brain than yours- no offence meant- so I was saved by the strength of my mind."

He strained his arm, but it was firmly caught in the immovable vice of the guard's grip. The Doctor looked up at him. "Excuse me, do you mind? I was about to tap my forehead there- a nice, relaxed finish to my little speech- and you obstructed me. Bad form."

The guard continued to stare forward, an odd, grating noise emitting from his mouth. Then, he croaked out two syllables. "Stop… this…"

"Execute the Doctor!" yelled the other guard. The Doctor's mournful eyes met Magwhylde's. Slowly, he nodded.

The laser shots blasted the two men off their feet, sending their bodies tumbling over the other side of the podium. The fact that one of them had managed to dredge up enough of their mind, only to plead for death, was something that troubled the Doctor no end. As Janice and one of the novices unshackled him, Magwhylde was already busy trying to contain the uproar that had broken out amongst the Sisterhood and the patients in the arena. The Time Lord leapt off the podium and onto the theatre seating, brushing dirt off his waistcoat as he headed towards the Sister.

As he reached her, Magwhylde was shouting herself hoarse at some extremely confused and unhappy members of her order, who backed off reluctantly. "Sister Magwhyle, you're full of hidden depths," remarked the Doctor, a smile twisting at his lips. "I never expected you to be so… gung- ho."

"Murder? Brainwashing? That's not the sort of thing I condone," growled Magwhylde, her jaw firmly set. "I've got some questions to put to the supervisor," she concluded, holding her gun at a ready position at her shoulder.

The Doctor shook his head, amazed at the hidden depths to people that continued to surprise him. He turned to see where Janice had got to, and his features softened slightly as he saw her examining one of the bodies of his former guards. He leapt softly onto the podium to join her.

"What _did _happen to them?" she asked, gently closing the corpse's eyes.

"Like I said, they saw something that the human brain just couldn't comprehend- mine barely could," the Doctor said unhelpfully.

Silence.

"Which _was…?_"

"Oh, right, yes! In his office, the supervisor has a box. I made the mistake of looking _inside_ that box, and I saw… _another dimension._"

This news caused Janice to show absolutely no reaction whatsoever. The Doctor tried again.

"…_another dimension._"

Janice frowned. "What was it like?"

"What do I keep trying to tell you?!?"

"I have absolutely no idea!"

"You can't describe another dimension! It's completely beyond the comprehension of you and your language!"

"So is this other dimension a problem?"

"You bet your corduroy it is! The unstabilised meeting of different realms of reality could destroy the fabric of all existence!"

"So shouldn't we do something about it instead of bellowing at each other?!?"

"YES!" The Doctor turned and bounded away up the amphitheatre, Janice right behind him. Sister Magwhylde turned as they dashed past, and began to hobble in their wake.

* * *

The corridor lay empty as the elderly couple hobbled down it, blissful in the peace of each others company. It was all right, they thought to themselves. The old man's fatal illness wouldn't stop them being together. They were happy to go to the long rest together. Suddenly, with an almighty crash, a large set of double doors were thrown open, and the Doctor dashed out of them, skidding to a halt and looking both ways along the corridor, followed by Janice Nice, who almost ran into the far wall. Ten seconds later, Sister Magwhylde wheezed out of the amphitheatre.

"So, what? These people lost their minds so the Sisterhood put them to doing menial chores?" asked Janice.

"Efficiency, my dear girl!" the Doctor proclaimed. "Somebody's got to do the work around here."

"And the Sisterhood just didn't question them at all?"

"The Supervisor provided us with these poor unfortunate souls… we just accepted them…" Magwhylde confessed unhappily.

"Doesn't matter!" snapped the Doctor, seeing Magwhylde's distress. "People make mistakes all the time, you made one now, you'll have to live with it, but in the grand scheme of things, that's not important. Your Supervisor is really a creature from another dimension who doesn't understand the terrible things its stupidity could be doing to reality! We must stop it!" He stared both ways down the corridor, before setting off purposefully along it.

"Wait, Doctor!" protested Magwhylde. "The Supervisor's office is the other way!"

The Doctor spun around to face her. "What? Face the Supervisor like this? Are you mad? We're totally unprepared! No, we're going to my TARDIS!"

He dashed off down the corridor. Janice and Magwhylde exchanged a look, then together, set off at a jog after the Time Lord. The corridor was quiet again. Ten seconds later, the Doctor dashed back at top speed from the direction he had gone, skidding to a halt by the elderly couple. Gently taking the elderly man's wrist, he felt the pulse.

"Oh, you've got decades left," he said cheerfully. "Get yourself a new doctor."

* * *

The tall, blue box stood alone, casting its powerful, immortal shadow over the storage area where it waited silently. The Doctor and Janice pelted up to it, practically carrying Magwhylde between them.

"_That's_ your ship?" spluttered Janice, eliciting a frown from the Doctor.

"Don't start," he muttered, unlocking the doors and pulling them inside.

Janice would have given a gasp, but the shock took all the air out of her. She stood inside the cavernous space, which seemed to swing around her. The room soared upwards, the height of a two- storey building, shining bright silver in the lights of the large lights set in the ceiling. A staircase wound and looped upwards to a door set in the upper half of one wall of the hexagonal space, while another door stood slightly ajar at ground level. Directly in the centre of the room stood an imposing six- sided console, with a squat transparent cylinder rising out of it, inside which strange _things_ comprised of light writhed around small upright beams. Each side of the console was a different colour, and each had a vast array of strange switches and levers alongside banks of flickering lights. All this Janice took in in just a few seconds, before the Doctor dashed towards the console and flicked a switch which closed the huge doors behind them, and then ran through the door into the corridor beyond. Janice and Magwhylde followed him.

"It's bigger-" began Magwhylde.

"No time for that now!" shouted the Doctor, slamming a side door open. Janice followed him into a large room filled with boxes, with a door set into the opposite wall. The Doctor was already giving instructions as he grabbed a crate and started pulling wires and equipment out of it.

"Erm, Magwhylde, please go back to the control room, there's an armchair you can sit in and get your breath back. If a light comes on on the black face of the console, flick the switch next to it." He looked up at her. "Run along, now!" Magwhylde backed out of the room, still looking about her in amazement. The Doctor continued grimly connecting various wires to his invention. Janice knelt by him.

"What is it?" she asked.

"A work of genius," the Doctor replied. "I really wish I had my sonic screwdriver."

"You know," sighed Janice, "I never really had a very exciting life before now. Certainly never had anyone shooting at me or getting my friends almost executed."

"Enjoying it?" the Doctor asked absently but briskly.

"Erm… not really," she replied. "To be honest, I couldn't do this sort of thing all the time, like you probably do. I mean, not that I'm a coward or anything, but-"

"You know what, Janice?" said the Doctor, looking at her. "Don't you worry about things like that: get on with your life. Meet people. Do good in your own way, through your writing. Make sure people know what they should, that sort of thing. You don't have to go out all guns blazing to fight injustice and danger. Everyone lives and sees life in a different way."

Janice looked at him, but he was already smacking his machine in the side.

* * *

In the Supervisor's office, the hologram sat in a chair, watching the monitor as it displayed a figure in a bed, their life ebbing away as the drugs wended their way through their arteries. The eyes of the hologram also examined another screen, this one showing minute and precise information transmitted from a tag inside the woman's brain. But it wasn't enough. These creatures' brains were more complex than it had first thought. There must be more! More must be persuaded to bring their lives to an end! War, starvation, disease, it didn't matter. There must be more of this… death.

* * *

In the storeroom of the TARDIS, the Doctor put the finishing touches to his masterpiece.

"Now can I know what it is?" asked Janice.

"A simple boosting device," murmured the Doctor. "Just something to fortify the telepathic link between the TARDIS and myself." He stood and strode through the door on the other wall. Janice followed him through, and with an unpleasant rush of discomfort, found herself on the staircase of the console room, having emerged through the upper door. "Don't worry about that," the Doctor called over his shoulder. "It changes from time to time, I can never keep up with it." He strode over to Magwhylde, who was relaxing in an armchair with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits. "Ah, the Tea and Biscuits treatment," the Doctor said, mildly surprised. "She must like you a lot. Even I didn't get that treatment when I first sto… yes, well, never mind." He had unbuttoned and removed his waistcoat by this point, and was clipping the long, flat device he had just built to the inside.

"Right," he said, once he was fully dressed again. "Now we're ready to face the supervisor."

* * *

The Supervisor stood calmly in his office and watched impassively as the door flew inwards on the waves of a missive explosion which tore the walls apart. His holographic visage shimmered as debris passed through it. After a pause, the Doctor and Janice marched grimly through the jagged hole and faced their enemy.

"I detected your impending arrival on my cameras," the Supervisor informed them. "Your forced entry was unnecessary."

"It made me feel better," snarled the Doctor. "Now, I'm not going to beat around the bush. Leave this dimension or I'll destroy you."

The Supervisor did not laugh, but there was a very faint mocking tone to his voice. "You cannot destroy me. It is not possible. My kind cannot have an end."

"I thought as much," retorted the Doctor grimly. "That's why you're so interested in _death_, isn't it? I'm guessing that before you broke the inter-dimensional barrier, you had absolutely no concept of death, did you?"

"Astute," said the Supervisor.

"So… what?" asked Janice, thinking hard. "He's come here and set up this place, where he can monitor as many forms of dying as possible?"

"Very astute," nodded the Doctor. "I'm guessing the hologram's origin is of his dimension, in order for him to gain the contacts he needed to found this place with the Sisterhood. I doubt people would have listened to him were he just a box when he first arrived in this dimension."

"But it is not enough!" complained the creature, still speaking through the hologram. "There are so many other forms of death to view. I have not had that much experience of unexpected death." It turned to the Doctor. "Perhaps you can help me, with your wonderful methods of exploring this universe. Take me to other places where I can view death in different environments. I am particularly interested in the idea of… war."

The Doctor slammed his fist down on the remains of the table. "NO! You still haven't got it, have you? These are people's very existences you're trifling with here! And those that have died in this place: you had no right to infringe on the respect they deserved!"

"The people that died in this place all desired death anyway!" retorted the Supervisor.

"That doesn't change the fact that you've just treated them like curiosities, or creatures in a zoo! You simply can't remove someone's very life just like that!" bellowed the Doctor!"

"What does it matter?" hissed the Supervisor, no longer using the hologram but projected from the closed box on the side table in the corner. "Does it really matter that much? You people of this reality will all die eventually anyway, what does it matter whether it's now or in a decade's time?"

Janice stared at him in horror. "Well, how would you like it if someone just came along and idly destroyed you, just to see what happens?"

The hologram shrugged, and the voice continued. "That argument isn't valid. I can't be destroyed."

The Doctor began to walk around the desk towards the box. "That's where you're wrong. Because you've ripped apart forces I can't even begin to understand. And I have the power to destroy your very essence!"

A horrible, croaking, crackling sound emitted from the box.

"Doctor… is that… laughter?" asked Janice, looking at the box.

"Doctor, I have the power to destroy you in less than one of your heartbeats!" snapped the voice. "In your brain is a tag, placed there as you slept on the first night you stayed here! It is there primarily to study your brainwaves at the moment of death, but it is also a link! I can transmit such forces as will utilise those parts of the brain strongest in the moments of death to rip your mind apart! Then I will take your craft and continue my study!"

The Doctor stared grimly at the box. "Well, that settles it. Sorry, and all, but I'm going to stop you."

There was silence from the box for a moment. Then: "You will now… die, Doctor."

One of the monitors on the Supervisor's desk started to go haywire with data. The Doctor stood stock still for a moment. Then, slowly, he began to smile.

"This… is… impossible!" crackled the static- riddled voice in the box.

"Not impossibility, just ignorance on your part," spat the Doctor.

"Explain!"

"You see," growled the Doctor, concentrating intently. "You can't activate those parts of my brain because, paradoxically, I know that if you kill me… I won't die."

"That explanation was unsatisfactory!"

"Tough," snarled the Time Lord. "Magwhylde, NOW!"

* * *

In the TARDIS, under Magwhylde's basic guidance, the TARDIS' telepathic link to the Doctor's mind opened to its fullest capacity. The pan- dimensional creature found itself forcibly dragged from its safety in the box- portal, through the tag in the Doctor's mind, and into a strange kind of half- existence, not entirely sure if it were real or not. The being let out a silent internal sob of fear and loneliness, before being swept through the TARDIS and through the time machine's strange connectors and sensors into the Vortex. There was a sense of compression, and then the being, unable to cope with the raw unrestrictedness of the dimensional corridor that was the Time Vortex, the being… ceased.

* * *

In the split second that all this took place, the Doctor shrugged out of his waistcoat, unclipped the machine from the inside, and opened the box in the corner. With a cry of "Don't look!" he hurled the object into the box and was thrown back as the box twisted impossibly, before splintering and exploding.

Janice found herself on the floor. She sat up, panting. The Doctor lay, staring at the ceiling, idly picking splinters from his hands, half laughing, half sobbing with relief.

"What happened?" she asked. The Doctor sat up.

"I threw an unshielded object through the portal, into the utter _differentness_ of the world beyond. The portal's been destroyed in a way that might have happened to both _realities_… if it wasn't for us."

"Oh, it was all you, really, Doctor," Janice protested.

"Nonsense, you were wonderful too," the Doctor said generously. He looked momentarily sad. "You know, that creature genuinely didn't understand it was doing wrong. I can't bring myself to blame it entirely, you know."

Janice laid a comforting hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "But you saved us. You saved countless galaxies of people."

The Doctor got to his feet. "Yes. Yes we did. Will you put that in your article?"

Janice thought for a moment. "Forget the article. I don't really know where I stand on the whole thing now, anyway."

The Doctor grinned. "Challenging perceptions. Sometimes it's good to learn." He helped her to her feet. "I wonder if I could have talked that creature round in the end. You know, there are just some people who find themselves obsessed by death and destruction, feeling the need to find glory and pleasure in pain and destroying. Then there are some people who feel the need to preserve, to nurture life. And very often the latter find themselves making a stand against the former, for the greater good… and shoulder the consequences."

Janice listened to the Doctor's whimsy, staring up into his face as they left the room and walked to the window together, an unspoken shared desire to enjoy the sunshine. "And what about you, Doctor? How do you feel?"

"How do I feel?" the Doctor asked. He paused, his mouth half- open. "I feel… glad to be alive."

* * *

The End! Finito! Well, I thought it was pretty good compared to my early work. (If you haven't read my early work... well, I can't really say don't, since some of it's pretty funny.)

Anyway, from my next FanFic, we'll be plunged into the murky, violent world of the 13th Doctor, so it's goodbye from the 12th, goodbye from Janice, and, until next time, goodbye from me, The Jolly Gnu.


End file.
